


Dormant: Elsa's Story

by evblack



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Frozen (2013), Let It Go (Frozen Song)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-01 22:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13305120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evblack/pseuds/evblack
Summary: We were enamored by the story of one sister, Anna, attempting to reconnect with her older sister, Elsa, on Elsa's coronation day. We see Anna's thoughts, feelings, and heart come alive on-screen. What about Elsa? This story details the events in Frozen from Elsa's perspective, plus a few original, invented events.





	1. Prologue

  


Prologue

 

In that country, in that season, the winters were particularly mean. When it snowed, it was not the gentle sprinklings of some regions nor the moderate layers of others. No, it snowed full-force, snow slapping into one's body and bruising it from the sheer force, wind whipping and roaring around building corners and speeding through open glens and courtyards. A storm was a monster there, in Arendelle, one that none of its citizens could escape. They bore it as a normal day, instinctively hunching down in their heavily fur-trimmed coats. Only their eyes, bright and warm, thawed through the darkness and despair of Arendelle's cold days and frigid nights. Then, when those mean storms had exhausted themselves, the wind's roar faded into a dull murmur and crackles of sunlight hinted from above a gray sheet of clouds blanketing the winter sky. Most beautiful was when a winter daybreak resulted from those frigid winter nights. The clouds would part, making way for the royalty that was the sun, which broke into prismatic colors, first cool from the evening and second warm from the sun's radiance, over the winter sky. Fields of colors rippled as the sun ascended into its noble position, slowly proceeding past the clouds, past the early morning birds, past even the sparkling stars, which bowed and dimmed in the sunlight and eventually disappeared into the rainbow of color, and finally positioning itself in the now robin's egg blue sky. Then, those harsh winters didn't seem so cruel, not entirely. It was those very sunrises that a young girl often watched.

She lived in that country of Arendelle. Indeed, she was one of citizens. She had blonde hair, bordering on white, and blue eyes reminiscent of ice reflecting the cool, winter sky. Like all the other inhabitants, she had fair skin resulting from how little sunlight the region received. Most importantly of note was the sweet and secretive smile that often lingered upon her pale pink lips. The girl's name was Elsa. She would have been considered quite ordinary if it were not for two things. The first fact was that Elsa was a princess. Elsa was the firstborn child of King Adgar and Queen Idun of Arendelle. Elsa was named in honor of her long-deceased paternal grandmother, Elspeth. Queen Elspeth was Arendelle's greatest and most honored ruler, since Olaf Kartsky, the first king of Arendelle, reigned. Elspeth improved trading and political tensions between Arendelle and the Northern Isles; coerced Arendelle from a simmering war between the mountain peoples, the Samee, and the ocean peoples, the Cartew; bettered living and working conditions for the citizens of Arendelle; among many other accomplishments. Naturally, the namesake lingered in Elsa's parents' minds during the queen's pregnancy. Upon her birth, Elsa's name was regarded by all to be the loveliest name to grace the ears of any person who heard it.

The second fact was that Elsa had magical powers over ice and snow. When Elsa was born, a soft burst of white light exploded above the infant and her royal mother. Ensuing, a gentle tumble of flurries wafted down from the ceiling and sprinkled onto mother and newborn daughter. Immediately, Elsa's parents knew that their firstborn daughter was no ordinary girl, much less a common princess. Queen Idun and King Adgar were worried at first, but the king consoled his wife.

"We don't know anything, my love. It could be a blessing, not a curse."

"We do not know: that is what troubles me. What if it becomes...something? What if she is...is evil?"

Queen Idun slammed her eyes shut. King Adgar wrapped his arms around his consort and embraced her tightly. "She won't be. I promise you." He pulled away from her and held her by the shoulders firmly. His eyes seared straight into hers. "She won't be, because we will teach her go be good and kind and to see her fellow man as friend."

With that, the king pecked the queen's forehead; the queen, who trembled from her fear, relaxed into her love's body. From there on, King Adgar and Queen Idun raised their first daughter with great caution. They constantly helicoptered about her, watching their baby's every move. For a year, nothing happened, and Elsa's parents started to believe the flurries upon her birth day had only been an exaggeration resulting from overactive imaginations. Their worries, beginning to slack, would not be appeased. Upon Elsa's second birthday, a remarkable event occurred. It was the official start of winter, the farewell to the autumn festival having been the preceding day. Little Elsa, now a toddler, was awake early on the day of her birthday. Though she couldn't speak or read clocks, little Elsa felt it was her day. She remembered the clean, sure promise of snow in the air from her first birthday. Elsa idly played with her toes, pretending to count them the way she had seen her father counting out dellians, Arendelle's coin currency. Quickly, little Elsa grew bored of her task and lifted herself into a standing position. Her chubby hands grasped the pole railings of her crib and pulled her body up with all the strength she could muster. With that done, Elsa glanced around and examined her nursery. The gentle light of dawn was beginning to trickle like cold mountain water through the heavy curtains that lined her windows.

The little baby stared out past the large crack in the curtains. The heavy shroud of gray clouds tinged the early morning sky with a deathly pallor. The clouds cast a solemn aura over the kingdom of Arendelle. No wind stirred neither tree nor shrub. No creature moved, though many were surely awake. Even the birds, who signal the beginning of the day with their lovely songs, gingerly stirred in their nests but said nothing. It was the night following a thick snow. The world was a sweet cake, its sponginess coated in thickly glazed vanilla icing dusted with the singular sparkles of each shimmering snowflake. The figures and forms underneath the snow appeared unreal, like the decorations atop a cake. The houses were still, the people within them unmoving in their early morning stupor. The world held its breath. The gray clouds above Arendelle were tinged with the familiar warm hues of a sunrise: baked orange, golden yellow, blushing rose, and flaming scarlet. They ringed the edges of the clouds, growing ever more passionately with each moment until the sky was on fire with the sun’s brilliance. Then, the world seemed to sigh and the clouds parted. The clouds revealed the sun, a dazzling diamond glinting through the clouds’ roughness. The sun’s demure rays caressed the snowflakes upon the ground and awakened them into their sparkling state. It was breathtaking, for everywhere the sun touched the ground twinkled with the beauty of billions of tiny stars.

Elsa smiled to herself and a feeling of cool warmth drifted down her delicate baby spine. The coolness spiraled from her bones into her nerves, her muscles, and her arteries. It pumped through, back to front, and straight into her heart. From her heart, the coolness travelled through her body into her shoulders, arms, and hands. As Elsa touched the bars of her wooden crib, frost spiraled out from under the touch of her palms and fingertips. Little Elsa glanced down at her pudgy hands and lifted them to her eyes. Curious, she stuck entire right hand into her mouth. Instantly, the little girl felt the coolness of the force that had emanated from her hands only moments ago. Elsa jerked the suspected hand from her mouth and gave it a scathing scrutiny. The hand dripped with her own saliva. As before, the coolness coursed through her body and pumped into her palm. Underneath her scrutiny, the spittle upon her hand froze into a fragile, dripping puddle. Instantly, little Elsa beamed at her hand and raucously giggled. This strange new power was fun!

Elsa stared at her hand for some time. Meanwhile, the sun had continued to rise. Her room illuminated and glowed from the soft golden sunlight that peered in through her curtains. Elsa tipped her hand back and forth, watching the tiny puddle tip this way and that way, until she finally twisted her hand over and dumped the iced saliva onto the wooden floor. Little Elsa drummed the crib’s bars with her tiny, pale hands until she beamed at a better idea. The toddler princess threw her hands up towards the ceiling and squeezed her eyes shut. Though she was only young, Elsa tuned into the miniscule details of the cold pulsing through her tiny frame. Her power over the cold misted from her body and formed into a wispy cloud overhanging her nursery. Somehow, she felt the cold form into the cloud, and she squeezed her eyes shut harder, wiling the cloud to form further. The wispy cloud fattened and sprinkled small snow flurries onto her floor. Upon touching the lukewarm floor of her nursery, the snow flurries remained intact. Elsa’s eyes flew open and the little princess laughed boisterously in joy. She clapped her hands together. A door slammed somewhere in the castle, soon followed by the rapid thumping of two pairs of feet quickly proceeding towards Elsa’s nursery. The nursery door flew open with a whoosh, disturbing the gentle falling of Elsa’s flurries. In the doorway stood a panicked king and queen, clad in their bed wear and robes hastily thrown over their bed wear. Their eyes widened at the scene before them.

Elsa’s flurries quickly accumulated upon the nursery floor, forming a slight blanket of unmelted snow. The princess’s toys peaked out from underneath the layer of snow. Their eyes flicked to the snow cloud, to the snowy floor, and to their daughter. With a desperate look at each other, the king and queen slowly treaded through the snow and to their daughter. The queen scooped her royal daughter into her arms and held her tight against her. Pleased, Elsa wrapped her arms around her mother, oblivious to the shaking woman beneath her. Elsa continued to be enamored with the wonderful scene about her. Before long, the snow drifted to a stop and disappeared into nothingness. The king and queen were both relaxed and worried. For them, it was merely the beginning of something bigger.

 

Much older then, a three-year-old Elsa was looking down upon the same view as when she was a toddler. Unlike the view in the season of her birthday, this scene was much different, because it was the first day of summer. Instead of a light sheen of snow, there was a luscious carpet of verdant grass running from the castle meadow and up into the mountains. Flowers introduced themselves here and there, gently nodding their assent to her in the early morning breeze. King Adgar told Elsa to not open her window, but she could not resist. Elsa opened her triangular window the teeniest crack, just to feel that warm breeze wash over her. In that breeze was the warmth of her mother’s hugs and the freedom of her father carrying her on his back. Elsa closed her eyes and drank in the subtle and sweet perfume of slowly awakening flowers, which tilted their heads towards the rising sun. The sun glinted through the center of her window, which was sharply angled at either end. The flat end of the window was where Elsa currently sat, while the other end—the sharp point—ended at the edge of her bedroom’s ceiling. The longing to explore and peruse through the flowers filled Elsa. Still, she stayed where she was. It was silent for a few seconds before the sound of a woman in pain resounded throughout the halls. The gentle murmur of her father’s voice and maidservants’ high and low twitters drifted past her room. There was nothing panicked in King Adgar’s tone, merely worry, and for good reason. It was a beautiful morning, for the beautiful beginning of a beautiful new life.

Queen Idun was with child, and they made the revelation that past September. Elsa remembered the day when her parents pulled her aside after dinner one evening. The last days of summer were settling in the midst of autumn’s cool breath. As such, leaves were already beginning to fall in the last rays of the setting sun. Her parents walked two-year-old Elsa through the palace gardens until they stopped in front of a fountain. Her father bent down to her and whispered of a secret, and both parents told her. It was a kind of magic, they said, something miraculous. A mother and father brought new life into the world, which was how Elsa was created. It was a special kind of magic, brought about only by the truest of love. Their magic had created another, a sibling for Elsa, and Elsa was excited, because she would have someone with which to play. Elsa did get out and meet some of the local people, children included, but many of them were too shy to speak to her. Her royal status intimidated many of them, leaving her alone and lonely. Elsa had to content with amusing herself.  

The child conceived in the late summer was born in the early summer. Excited murmurings filled the palace, but Elsa remained in her room. She had been told by King Adgar to stay there until she was summoned by him.

“The next few hours will be hard,” her father told her. Adgar knelt down in front of her, his mature eyes peering into her equally mature ones. “Your mother will be in great pain.”

“Why, Papa?” Elsa asked so simply.

Adgar took a breath, thinking of telling her a white lie. However, he knew Elsa was old enough to hear truth. “Remember the magic we told you about all those months ago?” Elsa nodded. Adgar continued. “Some magic is painful—” Quickly, the king’s mind flashed to his daughter’s hands, and he vividly remembered Elsa’s first birthday, her casting of snow within her nursery. Adgar forced the image from his mind and focused on the present. “Some is painful—and some is beautiful. Some magic is both, but sometimes pain must come before beauty or…love.”

Elsa scrunched up her face. “But why would magic be painful and beautiful? Why would love be painful?”

Adgar rested his hands upon his young daughter’s small shoulders. His warm green-hazel eyes stared through her cool blue pools. The moment between them only lasted a few seconds, but Adgar felt suspended in the temporary winter that was Elsa’s eyes. Snowflakes and delicate frost patterns spiraled throughout her iris, branching and twisting into the unique beauty of her eyes. “Elsa, I will tell you now that life is not always content. There are often instances in life that pull us hither and thither, sometimes but not always resulting in pain. That pain allows us to better savor our past and make a better, more beautiful future. Sometimes beauty blossoms without us trying, but we must try regardless.” He paused to breathe, squinting his eyes in thought. Elsa was staring at him, though not at him; the little princess was thinking very hard about her father’s answer. Much of it was hard for her to process, but she felt she understood the overall message. “Do you understand?” he asked her.

Hesitantly, Elsa glanced away and nodded, then once more met her father’s eyes. “I think I do.”

King Adgar smiled warmly at his only daughter. “Don’t think too hard, dear. You still have need of that pretty head.” He reached in and squeezed the pink tip of Elsa’s nose.

Elsa responded with a surprised and delighted giggle. “You’re silly, Papa!”

Adgar grinned and sluggishly straightened himself out. The muscles of his back luxuriously stretched out, something he found he needed as he aged. The king rested his hand atop the princess’s white blonde head. “Stay here in your room. I will let you know when you can visit your mother.”

As he turned to leave, Elsa nodded at his back. “I will, Papa.”

Then, it was many hours ago in the early hours of the dark morning. Elsa remembered still being able to spy the stars in the black-blue velvet expanse of the night sky. Gradually, little Elsa observed the seeping of the sun’s warmth into the cold night, and she profoundly admired the beauty of dawn. The world seemed to deeply inhale and exhale happily—or so she imagined—because the birds burst into song as soon as the sunlight touched the green grass and painted the sky with its warmth. The night retreated into the shadows of trees and pushes, awaiting its turn for another couple of hours. During this time, Elsa had picked up a picture book to peruse; however, she found herself much too restless to concentrate upon its colorful pictures. Instead, she gazed outside at the window, daring to open the window the slightest crack. The door to her expansive room creaked open. Elsa turned to view her visitor.

A mildly disheveled King Adgar stood in Elsa’s doorway, nervously wringing his hands. Elsa’s book slipped from her hands as she jerked up from her window seat. “Papa! Papa, is Mama alright?”

Adgar emerged from the darkness of Elsa’s doorway. The bright morning sunlight revealed his even brighter smile. There was such contagious happiness in Adgar’s smile, that Elsa too was soon smiling, although she didn’t know why. Adgar took a few galumphing strides over to Elsa, scooped her up into his arms, and gleefully spun her around until both their heads were spinning. When they stopped, Elsa giggled, “Papa, what is it?”

Adgar kissed his daughter on the cheek and murmured, “Your mama has brought a wonderful gift into this world.”

“You mean…the magic?”

Adgar nodded. “The magic. You have a sister.”

In Elsa’s eyes, time screeched to a halt. Her heart skipped into a passive beat, drumming to the rhythm of the pause between her and her father. Her world suddenly changed, and her mind knew something beyond her childish view. She would never again be the same Elsa. Exhilaration filled her and a readiness to love trembled beneath her tender flesh. She would never be alone again in the palace. For children, adults are decent company but those of their own age range are better equipped to understand their thoughts. An aching loneliness had long been filling Elsa, despite all the people who tended to her and surrounded her every moment of her day. To truly _know_ someone was much different from seeing them and idle prattling.

 Elsa’s arms curled around her father’s neck and squeezed him into a sweet hug. “May I see her?”

Elsa felt, more than saw, her father smile. It was more than the reaction he had been expecting from his previously only daughter. “Of course. Let us see her together.”

With that, Adgar cuddled his daughter’s tiny and warm body close to his own and easily strolled out from Elsa’s room. Adgar entered the hallway and began to traverse the palace halls. Elsa knew there was no rush, but she willed her father to go faster. Each moment sent Elsa’s tiny blonde braid thumping against her shoulder and caused her light blue nightgown to flutter in the breeze. Her heart raced in anticipation of what she was to see. Achingly, they were there outside of her parents’ room. Maidservants and a midwife flittered into and out of the room. They all murmured seriously and excitedly amongst themselves. Once the royal father and daughter appeared, they parted to allow them access to the room. Her father stopped at the midwife. “How is she?”

The midwife, an elderly woman, smiled, and the wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks brought to life her good humor. “Which one, Your Majesty?”

King Adgar laughed good-naturedly. “Both.”

“Well and healthy.” The midwife motioned towards the room. “They have been waiting for you.”

Elsa’s young heart tightly clenched and her lungs seized as her father and she entered the room. Hours ago, it must have been dark and terribly lonely as her mother bore her second daughter. Shadows still lingered in the edges of room, that slice of night that never left. However, light permeated every possible surface within the room. The room’s curtains were slightly drawn, so a few bars of sunlight sneaked in from outside. The sunlight that did enter was bright and golden as the first days of summer. Golden sunlight gilded the walls, the carpet, and the canopy bed in which Queen Idun sat.  The queen’s dark brown hair cascaded down around her. Some of her hair was plastered to her skin by dried sweat, evidence of her recent labor. The dark blue blankets were pulled up to her waist, but Elsa was still able to see the white nightgown her mother wore. Morning sunlight fell upon the queen and outlined her in a soft, ethereal white-gold light. The light highlighted the warmth of her hair and her peaceful expression. The queen smiled sweetly and contentedly down at a bundle in her arms. Elsa thought her mother looked like an angel. For the first time, Elsa’s eyes wandering to the bundle in her mother’s arms. Elsa knew that the fruit of her mother’s labor lay swaddled the bundle of rose-colored blankets in her mother’s arms. Queen Idun stroked one end of the bundle and kissed it. Though her eyes were downcast, there was utter peace and love apparent in her demure blue eyes. Then, those eyes cast up to see her daughter and her husband, and the queen’s smile became ever brighter. With a free hand, Idun motioned for Elsa and Adgar to come closer.

Quietly, Adgar crept closer to where his wife lay. He tightened his arms around Elsa, lifted her, and lowered her onto the bed. Meanwhile, Elsa was filled with awe as she watched both her mother and the strange bundle lying in her mother’s arms. The princess’s breaths slowed. Her mother lowered the bundle for Elsa to get a better look. Gradually, Elsa crawled across the sheets and to her mother. Once again, the world turned to gelatin and Elsa froze in place as she saw what was within the rose-colored baby blankets. A chubby face, with eyes closed in first slumber, greeted her from between the mounds of blankets. The infant’s cheeks and nose were pink with life, though pale from lack of sun exposure. A tuft of strawberry-blond hair poked out from atop the infant’s head. Elsa remembered that the infant was a girl, her new sister, and she tilted her head up to peer at her mother.

“What’s her name, Mama?” Elsa whispered.

Idun hummed in happiness. “Anna.”

“Anna…” Elsa tasted the name in her mouth. At first, it was strange and didn’t seem to fit this unknown and tiny human being within Idun’s arms. “Anna.”

At the mention of her name, tiny Anna stirred and opened her eyes. The infant blinked a few times, gazing up with summer sky blue eyes at the large girl staring down at her. Ice blue met summer blue in a clash of season eyes. Anna’s lips burst into a huge smile and the infant unwedged her arms form underneath her rose blankets. With those arms, Anna reached up towards Elsa. Elsa blinked in surprise but smiled. Body trembling once more, Elsa reached out her small hand to touch even smaller hands. Their hands touched and Elsa fell into a solidified love that dropped straight down from the sky and broke open in her soul. After many minutes of touching hands, Elsa leaned in and kissed Anna all over her face. Little Anna giggled and gleefully grabbed at Elsa’s petite nose. Elsa tinkled a soft laugh in response. Queen Idun looked between her two daughters and her husband, and King Adgar did much the same. It was looking like the two girls were going to be inseparable.

 


	2. Chapter 1: Snow Flurries

 

Chapter 1

Snow Flurries

 

A young girl watched the horizon and the sun that peaked from over its edge. She watched as the noble sun ascended into the sky, and she noted the way everything paled in comparison to the sun’s brilliance. Wherever the sun’s rays touched, the light made that particular location or those particular things ethereally gorgeous. The young girl, her name Elsa, exhaled onto the glass of her window. The fog of her breath stayed on the glass. Elsa lifted a finger to draw a snowflake into the miniscule patch of fog. The action of finger rubbing against the glass emitted a quiet squelch as the moisture of her exhalation underneath her fingertip.

The season was winter, the most brutal one Arendelle faced in a long time. In the night before, a blizzard had left the entire country weighed in tons of plush snow. Elsa remembered hearing the baying blasts, like violent hounds, pounding against the edges and niches of the well-fortified palaces; feeling the glacial temperature seep in through the cracks and holes, despite the safe fire crackling in her room’s fireplace; and, most of all, sensing the familiar trickle of warm-cold react to the raging snowstorm outside the palace’s walls. Elsa lay awake in her bed, eyes closed but just feeling her body pulse in time with the harsh winter winds and the stinging flurries. Each heartbeat of hers matched the pounding of the winds; each trickle of warm-cold increased with the feeling of the glacial temperatures seeping inside; and, more and more, that trickle increased until she lifted her eyelids and stared at the ceiling. She felt the raw power building up inside of her, and it made her restless. She did not know what to do with this power, which she had known since before she could remember. It was not strange to her, not then, because it was a part of her. Elsa did think it was strange that nobody else, especially her family, had powers like hers. In a way, it made her feel alone; however, it also made her feel extremely special, because it was a sweet secret she could savor upon her tongue and suck on for the longest time. Yet, she did not think she would ever tire of her power.

In her room, it was a quiet cemetery, save for the soft snoring of her younger sister, Anna. Anna lay in a soft pink bed, exactly across the room from hers. Since Elsa could consciously remember, Anna had always loved the color of pink. The young one always said that it reminded her of spring and summer, when the flowers would bloom a blushing, graceful magenta. Often, Anna remarked that Elsa’s bed was much like the season of her own birth, winter. Indeed, Elsa thought so; her bed and its sheets were clad in a mature royal blue, reminiscent of a dark winter’s night after snow has just fallen. Every fiber in Elsa’s body connected with winter. It had begun with the day of her birth, the winter solstice, and continued with her power over ice and snow. From there, the feeling escalated in her semi-solitude concerning the limited knowledge of her power amongst the palace’s residents. Only King Adgar and Queen Idun knew of Elsa’s power, and they thought it wise to keep Anna in the dark. They weren’t sure that two-year-old Anna would keep the secret or truly understand the breadth of Elsa’s power. Of course, Elsa herself couldn’t truly understand her power or their source. Because of Elsa’s power’s mysterious origin, the king and queen were naturally extremely wary and fearful of Elsa’s growing potential. They were afraid that, as Elsa grew, the strength of her power would too. Though they never voiced this to Elsa, Elsa would see the concern ever present in their eyes as they watched her or overhear their conversations when they thought she was in bed.

One night Elsa could not sleep, for a strange dream had haunted her and awakened her from a deep slumber. Loathe going to her parents for comfort, five-year-old Elsa crept through the winding palace hallways towards the kitchen for a glass of chocolate milk. It was late into the night, and everybody was asleep—or so she thought. Elsa passed her parents’ room and overheard voices. Immediately, her heart jumped into gear and thumped against her breastbone. Her breath stuttered and she snapped her eyes towards a crack in the room. Silent as a mouse, Elsa crept to the door’s crack and peered into the room. The tension welled from her body when she saw that it was merely her parents conversing before they fell asleep.

“Sometimes I worry for her,” Idun sighed. Elsa thought she was talking about Anna. What was wrong with her? “The entire world will be resting upon her shoulders one day. She will be growing up, and with that carrying a burden more powerful than any other.”

Adgar rolled onto his side, his back to the door, to view his wife. “Idun, you’re worrying needlessly.” He reached out a hand and rested it upon her shoulder. “We don’t know what the future has in store for us _or_ for Elsa.” Elsa did a double-take and instantly filled with regret. Still, she continued to listen. “She could become something great or terrible. We don’t know what her power will become.”

Idun slammed her eyes shut, a catch in her voice as she spoke. “That’s the thing! What if she hurts herself? What if she hurts us? Or _Anna_? We can’t wait around to just see—”

“We _must_ ,” Adgar emphasized. “As I said, _we do not know_. Therefore, we must approach it with caution but act normally. If something happens to either of them—or, God forbid, somebody else— _then_ we take action. We are there to protect our children.”

It was at this point in time that Elsa retracted from the doorway and silently slid into the darkness. The desire for chocolate milk, and maybe even one of the cook’s sugar cookies, dissipated from her mind. Walking bad to bed, Elsa had an acrid flavor in the back of her mouth. As children are apt to do (even the wisest of ones), Elsa did not consider the future. She did not consider that she could possibly hurt her parents or her little sister. Elsa viewed her powers with the rose-colored lens that accompanies childhood innocence. Now, some of that innocence had been scraped away, leaving Elsa slightly afraid. She realized that she couldn’t talk to her parents about her newfound fear, for that would betray the fact that she had overheard their conversation. Nor could she go to Anna, who was too young to yet comprehend the import of Elsa’s predicament. As Elsa strolled, she neared the door to her and Anna’s room. Suddenly the young princess halted, fists rolled at her sides. She brought a hand up in front of her face, unfurled her fingers, felt the cool thaw of ice coursing through her veins, and created beautifully pointed snowflake in her hand.

_This is mine_ , she tenaciously thought. _This is fun, and I love it. I don’t care what they’re going to say. I love this._ She bowed her head and breathed out slowly, watching the snowflake in her palm shrink before disappearing into a tiny burst of flurries. _I’ll try to be careful, I will. For Anna. For Mama and Papa. I don’t want anybody to get hurt_.

She remembered the thought as stubbornly and as strongly then as when it happened a month ago. Elsa closed her eyes for a moment before reopening them. She looked over at her little sister, cuddled up within her rose sheets and softly snoring. Elsa’s blue eyes flashed down to her palm and she softly smiled. Elsa rolled to her side and, with a glance around her, held out her left palm open towards the ceiling. As moments before, Elsa felt the sweet cool-warmth of her power shift and crash over her moments preceding the explosion of a snowflake in her palm. The snowflake was the exact snowflake she had created that night a month ago. Now that she was able to study it, Elsa was filled with wonder. Her tutor taught her that no two snowflakes were alike, that they (akin to people) were all unique. Alas, Elsa was never able to study a snowflake up close because they sometimes melted upon her skin before she could view them. Other times, if she concentrated hard enough, Elsa could focus the cool-warmth into her skin and keep the snowflakes around. Elsa had become more adept at controlling her power over the few years she had been alive. In the days that it snowed—which was nearly daily for the northern country of Arendelle—Elsa practiced outside very readily. She extended the course of the cool-warmth, which she came to think of as her snow aura, throughout tiny parts of her body. The mental effort it took exhausted her, but she continued at it. If she was making a snowman with little Anna, Elsa would force herself to extend the flexibility of her power to her legs or her arms. After a day of snow playing, Elsa would end up more exhausted than she would have thought. Her parents merely thought that her exhaustion was due to her physical activity. In some parts it was; however, it also stemmed from her mental taxation from her power. As the months passed, Elsa found it easier and easier to broaden her snow aura to her entire body. At first, it was only for a short while, and then she started to feel the seeping cold creep into her body. The warming of the world, signaling the onset of spring, added to Elsa’s challenge. Regardless, Elsa continued practicing and found that she could hold her snow aura for a few minutes, half hours, and, soon enough, hours. The warm weather provided her with difficulty, but Elsa became more in tune with her body.

Then, Elsa breathed and the snow aura came naturally, as a cascading river flowing downhill over stones well-polished by the river’s course. She simply thought about it and it came to her. Elsa made the snowflake larger and smaller, examining it closely and dissecting the snowflake into smaller and larger snowflakes. Pricks and triangles stopped and started acutely here and there, breathtaking in their curving and straight angles and shapes. A thrill of joy filled Elsa, again thinking of her sweet secret and savoring it in her mouth. Bravely, Elsa swirled her hand around in the air. A winter breeze spiraled through the room, in time with the motion of her hand. Flurries rushed past the closed door and breezed over the top of Anna’s head. Elsa snapped her hand back; the flurries immediately disappeared. Her eyes scrutinized the darkness of her sister’s form, but Elsa detected only a small movement and a soft groan. Then, silence, and the continuing background noise of the blizzard outside. Through her nose, Elsa breathed a quiet sigh and smiled back down at her hand.

_That was a close one_ , she thought, smiling thankfully.

After mentally resting for a few seconds, Elsa returned to playing with her power. She sent gusts of frost at their triangle window. Manipulating the formation of the frost, Elsa created pretty patterns of rosemaling, much like the rosemaling in their room’s wallpaper; delicately veined leaves; strange and new flowers spurred from her imagination, their petals round, triangular, and curving; and spikes of pine needles sprouting from the window’s dagger corners. Entranced by her power, Elsa threw back her covers from her body and surreptitiously placed her tiny feet onto the cold hardwood floor. She lifted her body from her toasty bed and shuffled quietly, across the hardwood and onto their rosemaled carpet, to the window seat. She was smiling so brightly, causing thrills to further chill her snow aura. Elsa shivered in happiness and sank down into the mushy cushion of the window seat. For at least an hour, perhaps longer, Elsa played around with her powers. She paid no attention to her surroundings, so completely immersed was she in her play, that she didn’t feel the hot breath on her shoulder until the very last second.

Elsa snapped out of her reverie, twisting her wrist to the side and instantly shutting off her powers. The snow aura faded away upon command. Elsa snapped around to view her little sister, Anna, watching her raptly.

Anna whispered, “Elsa…has snow powers?”

At that, Elsa swallowed hard.


End file.
